


A Rare Treat

by Musyc



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anal Sex, Community: theiceroyals, F/M, Floor Sex, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shameless Smut, Submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:14:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22502335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Musyc/pseuds/Musyc
Summary: Narcissa knows how to ease her husband's troubles.
Relationships: Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Black Malfoy
Comments: 15
Kudos: 165
Collections: The Ice Royals





	A Rare Treat

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Редкое удовольствие](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24522295) by [StilleWasser](https://archiveofourown.org/users/StilleWasser/pseuds/StilleWasser)



> For TheIceRoyals 2020 fest.

Lucius is due to return from the Ministry at any moment. Narcissa strokes the elegant bone-handled brush through her long hair, eyes half-closed in a soft satisfaction as the pale blond strands smooth out and lie in soft, even waves. She brushes her hair, waiting for her husband, contemplating the mood he will arrive in - proud, agitated, predatory, vigorous. 

The bedroom door opens. Narcissa watches in the dressing table mirror as Lucius storms through the room, his cloak flung over a plush armchair near the window, his heavy outer robes shrugged into a pillow by the bathroom door. She arches a brow, listening to the slam of the door, then gives a silent and knowing nod when she hears the muffled profanities. Frustrated, then. She knows how to handle this.

Narcissa sets her brush down with a gentle click and pushes her hair behind her shoulders. Leaning closer to the mirror, she examines the skin beneath her eyes, prods delicately at the flesh under her chin, and strokes the length of her throat. She hums softly to herself and picks through the glass bottles and vials on the dressing table, shifting some aside and unstoppering others to give them a sniff. She finally picks a perfume heavy with musk and vetiver, touching the dropper to the pulse points of her neck, behind her ears, at each wrist. She opens her dressing gown and trails the dropper between and under her breasts, behind her knees, and beneath the curves of her anklebones. For a moment, she contemplates applying the thick perfume to her thighs and her neatly-trimmed mound, then shakes her head and returns the stopper to the bottle. Lucius prefers her own scent there.

She strips, dressing gown and negliee folded neatly and set to one side. From a hidden compartment in a drawer of the dressing table, she pulls an emerald and onyx _demiparure_ , crafted especially for her by one of the finest jewelers in Paris. Narcissa fastens the bracelets around her wrists, the choker around her neck, and the three long, delicately-wrought silver chains to the small hooks of the choker.

When Lucius steps from the bathroom, his hair loose and his shirt untucked, Narcissa is kneeling in the center of the bedroom, her feet set atop each other and her hands folded on her closed thighs. Chin raised, she looks up into his grey eyes, a small and satisfied thrill running through her when she notes the widened black circles of his pupils. 

"Cissa," he says, his voice roughened so slightly that only she would ever hear the quaver in it. "What is this?"

"A reward after a long and difficult day," she replies. She takes a deep breath, deliberately lifting her chest so the three silver chain sway between her breasts. "For my lord." She lifts the chains, holding them out to him. "And my master."

Lucius inhales sharply, his hands flicking at his sides. He steps forward and takes the ends of the chains, rubs his thumbs across the twisting serpents that form the clasps. "This is an uncommon offer," he says. 

"If you have a treat every day, it becomes unexceptional," she says with a soft smile. "Better to crave a rarity than to become bored with the commonplace."

Lucius huffs in amusement, his eyes darkening further. "True. And I do crave certain rare things from my wife." 

"Then you may have them," she says. She presses her hands together and lifts them, the emerald bracelets glinting.

Lucius attaches the chains to her wrists, the serpents locking fangs around the loops on the bracelets. "Behind your back," he says.

Narcissa shifts the chains over her shoulders and folds her arms at the small of her back. She can move if she needs to, but she is not supposed to reach for him. She sits up straighter and squeezes her legs together to encourage the gentle throbbing between her thighs.

Lucius holds the remaining chain, a long and elegant leash. Slowly, he unbuttons his shirt with one hand, exposing the pale line of his chest, like a marble statue glimpsed through a silken drapery. His hand drops lower, undoes the fastenings of his trousers.

Narcissa's mouth automatically opens, head tipping back and tongue flattening out in anticipation.

Lucius laughs, a low and rolling sound that seems to fill the room. "Ah, Cissa," he says. "Once a Head Girl, always a giving head girl."

He twists the chain around his fist and steps forward to push the tip of his cock over her tongue. He is only hesitant for a few seconds, long enough to allow her to adjust the angle of her head and the shape of her tongue. When she blinks up at him, the corners of her mouth curling, he digs his free hand into the wealth of her hair and he thrusts. 

Lucius claims her mouth, sliding over her tongue and nearly into her throat. Each thrust pulls a small whimper from her, a sound of need that spurs him on. He grips her head and pushes her fully onto him, her nose and cheeks scraped by the coarse hairs surrounding the base of his cock. She closes her eyes, her groan muffled by the weight of him in her mouth. He holds her in place and she works her tongue frantically at the thick vein on the underside of his shaft before he relexes his grip and drives into her again.

She listens to the soft grunts he makes with each thrust. He's close, getting closer, and she opens her eyes to watch his face.

He pulls free of her.

Narcissa freezes, her mouth still open. 

Lucius has a wild, demanding look in his eyes, his hair loose and mussed, his throat and chest mottled pink. He pulls at her chain, hauls her forward, and she barely gets her arms down in time. She catches herself on her palms, staring at the thick carpet from all fours.

In the same breath, Lucius drops down behind her and yanks her hips up. He knees her legs apart. Narcissa spreads for him, spreads further than his silent demand. She knows her thighs are glistening wet for him. 

He groans and swears under his breath. "Don't move," he says.

His hands grip her buttocks and he presses one thumb between them, presses it hard to the tight bud of her arse. Narcissa's eyes widen. "Lucius," she says, and that's all she manages to say before her choker tightens.

Lucius pulls on the leash, pulls her head up and back. "No," he orders when her hands shift. "Do _not_ move." 

She holds her position, trembling from the arch in her back, her fingers clutching at the plush carpet, her nails raking through the fibers. The position is awkward, almost painful, and despite it, she's moments from coming. His insistence, his commands - she would hex him for it at any other time but here and now, she craves it. She _needs_ this, as much as he does.

Lucius shoves one hand between her legs, dragging his fingers through the dripping wetness from her core. He pulls his hand up and back, lubricating the puckered bud.

"Lucius," she says again, her voice rising on his name.

"You're mine," he says, shifting behind her to kneel between her calves. "Mine," he repeats, the head of his cock touching her arse. He tugs on the chain and leans over her, one hand wrapping around her throat. He bites the curve of her ear and aligns his cock to her, pushing insistently. 

Narcissa takes as deep a breath as she is able, relaxing her muscles, telling herself to open for him and silently begging him to _take_ her. She claws at the carpet, all but forcing herself not to shove backwards, not to impale herself on his length. "Lu-" she tries, gasping on even that single syllable. Her body is stretching, so slowly, spreading open, blooming for him. And still, _still_ , he is holding back.

He bites her ear again, groaning into her hair. "Narcissa," he growls to her as he releases his grip on her throat. "Beg for it."

She begs, she pleads, she rakes her hands through the carpet and howls. He shoves into her, one thrust splitting her open, his cock filling her tight. Narcissa knows she is speaking but what she's saying is impossible for her to understand. Calling his name, pleading for more, begging for him, all blurred into a whirl of sound, the filthiest words falling from her swollen lips, vulgar and obscene importuning. Her eyes fill with desperate tears, her arse burns with the stretch, her cunt drips for release.

She babbles, she begs, and Lucius is relentless, slamming against her until she can feel bruises rising in her pale flesh. Marks of his hips on her buttocks, marks of his hands on her waist - he is leaving his claim in her skin.

His rhythm stutters, the thrusts growing erratic, and Narcissa begs louder, screaming until her throat aches. Lucius loosens one hand and reaches beneath her, fingers groping for her clit. He rubs hard, artlessly, almost painfully. He slams into her again, pinches her clit fiercely, and he commands. "Cissa. _Come_."

She obeys.

She shrieks under him, arms buckling. Her cheek grinds into the carpet. Eyes squeezed shut, she screams in release, howling her pleasure as Lucius drives to his own end. He rips free of her arse and rises up on his knees, pumping his cock to spatter his seed over her back. Each drop is like ice on her burning skin and she writhes in agonized delight.

He falls beside her with a thud, the bottles on her dressing table rattling in response. He takes her hand and for a few minutes they lie on the carpet, unmoving and silent except for their gasped breaths.

Lucius stirs first, shuffling closer to her and smoothing her hair away from her face. "Ciss," he murmurs, leaning to kiss the corner of her eye. In the safety of afterglow, his careful speech and sharp accents slip from him, and she can hear the casual youth he once was. "Cissa. Y'right?" Y'kay?"

She doesn't open her eyes, but she finds a smile for him. Her well-used muscles complain at her as she rolls to her side, fitting her back against his chest and twining her legs in his. She pillows one arm under her head, the chains jingling as she moves. "Good," she whispers, voice too rough to speak aloud. "Better than good, love. May not sit down for days."

"Ah," Lucius says. "Then I win."

Narcissa laughs. "You certainly did. I wasn't expecting that, my dear, but it was rather exciting. You seemed to be enjoying yourself."

Lucius hums softly, nestling into her hair and kissing between her shoulders. "I do like giving you orders and actually have you obey them. As a treat, naturally. You're right, you know. It is much more delightful to have that on the rare occasion. Gets the blood pumping when you surrender to me like that."

"Oh, yes," she purrs in satisfaction. "It certainly does." She pulls his arm over her side and locks her fingers in his, holding his hand over her heart and listening to him breathe. She thinks about asking him if his frustrations are eased but decides to leave it for the moment. He's relaxed; she's replete. On the floor, wrapped in her husband's arms, everything is perfect.


End file.
